Contentions Fierce, Ardent, And Dire, Spring From

We Often Praise The Evening Clouds, And Tints So Gay And Bold, But Seldom Think Upon Our God, Who Tinged These Clouds With Gold.

Loud O'er My Head Though Awful Thunders Roll, And Vivid Lightnings Flash From Pole To Pole, Yet 'tis Thy Voice, My God, That Bids Them Fly, Thy Arm Directs Those Lightnings Through The Sky. Then Let The Good Thy Mighty Name Revere, And Hardened Sinners Thy Just Vengeance Fear.

Time Rolls His Ceaseless Course.

There Is A Vulgar Incredulity, Which In Historical Matters, As Well As In Those Of Religion, Finds It Easier To Doubt Than To Examine.

A Ruin Should Always Be Protected But Never Repaired - Thus May We Witness Full The Lingering Legacies Of The Past.